A Prelude to Claudia and the World's Cutest Baby
by mcpon14
Summary: This is a story about Melissa Banks and why she was so gaga over Claudia in Claudia and the World's Cutest Baby. Just my made-up take on what happened. Oneshot. Alternate universe.


I lay in my bed for the first time cocooned in a joy that I've never felt before. I just returned home from a Positive-Thinking Conference a few hours ago. I was one of the guests that was invited up to the stage to be demonstrated on. As I was up there, the audience was directed by Mr. Hansen, the speaker, to raise their hands up and repeatedly chant "heal" in unison under his instruction as they channeled their positive energy and will to me. The multitude of healing palms from the throng. The rallying voice of Mr. Hansen. The ratcheting up and up of the surge of therapeutic emanation washing over me put me in a lasting mood that I've never felt before. I was in by far the best car ride that I've ever had on the return commute. When I brushed my teeth earlier, I could feel each tooth being individually cleaned. What can I say? I feel fantastic . . . for the first time in my life. No suicidal thoughts within a three thousand mile radius - a day that I never thought I would ever experience. Gosh. I never imagined that this level of joy was attainable - ever - at least not for me. Mr. Hansen promised us an all-expenses paid trip to somewhere (Only my parents know where. It's meant as a surprise.) for coming to the conference, which is why I went. But now that is a negligible part of the reward for going.

For the first time in my life, I'm about to indulge in my favorite activity not with the aim of needing a pick-me-up or an escape. I've picked out Claudia and Crazy Peaches. I just love The Babysitters Club series. And my favorite character is Claudia. I could just gush about her forever. She is just so cool!

After finishing the book, I fell asleep wrapped in the most soothing sensation that I've ever felt before.

When I woke up, I felt that there was no support for the back of my head or my upper back which startled me. I flailed my arms and legs for a brief moment then looked around. I saw that I was in a room with kids my age sitting in school desks. I looked down and saw that I was sitting in one, too. I must not have remembered my day up to this point. Maybe I had a breakdown which took out a chunk of my memory and I had just recently returned to class? Or maybe I figuratively floated on a cloud of complete bliss carried over from last night and am just now returning to normal? The room felt funny to me too: somehow smaller. I swiveled my head back and forth. Hey! This isn't any classroom that I've been in! I looked at the teacher. He was unfamiliar, too. I've never seen him before, not even around school.

I raised my hand.

"Yes, Melissa?" he said annoyed, because I had interrupted him in the middle of lecturing.

I drew back a little with a little belly hiccup.

"How did you know my name?" I asked in a mousey tone.

He eyed me in a slightly condescending way before replying.

"Melissa . . . um . . . is that all? I really need to get back to this Algebra. Are you taking notes?"

"Um . . . no," I said confused. "Can I go to the nurse? I think I'm in the wrong class. I don't even know how I got here."

He eyed me again, studying me.

"You're in the right class. I've had you for the whole year."

He paused, considering something, then continued.

"Hmm, I don't think we have a school nurse . . . but go see Mrs. Downey, um, the secretary."

There were a million things that I wanted to ask him but he seemed kind of standoffish. I'll take my chances with this Mrs. Downey.

"Can you tell me how to get to her office?" I said as politely as I could.

Then a voice sounding like it's from a speaker blared suddenly.

I looked up and saw that it was from the intercom above the door.

"Melissa Banks. Can you come to the principal's office immediately. You're dad's waiting for you."

"How do I . . . " I began.

The teacher's incredulous facial expression halted me from finishing my question. I just got up and left out of the door.

In the hallway, I looked around trying to decide what to do when I spotted my mom a couple doors down.

She waved me over.

"Let's go outside," she directed. She was curiously brimming with excitement.

We arrived at a spot.

"Okay. You remember that trip that Mr. Hansen told us about?"

She was so giddy but I wasn't following.

"Well, guess what!" she whispered almost hissing. "We're in Stoneybrook. You know from the Babysitter's Club!"

"Whaat?" I uttered looking around and saw Stoneybrook Middle School labeled above the front entrance.

"Look. If you don't believe me, just go with it. Your dad and I wouldn't lie to you. Don't you think? After you get your backpack from Mr. Zizmore's room - that's the name of the teacher whose classroom you were just in - go to Social Studies class. It's room 212."

"You could skip P.E., which is the class in between. I know how you don't like playing with the other kids," she added.

"Mr. Zizmore? Social Studies?" I eyed her strangely as if she wasn't my mom at all. Maybe my parents' had been body-snatched? Or they were trying some kind of a prank - maybe as part of a strategy to help me with my clinical depression?

"Here's a map of Stoneybrook Middle School," she said handing me it.

"Um . . . I'm not saying that you're lying," I said slowly. "But . . . can I have some proof?"

"Ask all of the teachers and administrators their names and see if they match up," she offered giving me a list (names and some personal information about the person) and a cell phone. "Or you could try something else. But. Remember to call for anything. We'll pick you up after school."

She handed me a folder.

"You're class schedule is in there. So is everything else you'll need," she informed.

"Bye, sweetie. Go to all of your classes," she instructed.

I went back inside and straight to the principal's office and knocked.

"Come in."

He seemed friendly.

"Hi, um, Mr. Benjamin Taylor?" I ventured.

"Um . . ." he said giving me a squirrelly look. "Call me Mr. Taylor."

He seemed uneasy but I plowed forth anyways.

"You're the principal?"

"Um, yes. Don't all of the students know that?" he chuckled.

"Is Howard Kingbridge the assistant principal?" I continued.

"Yes," he minorly snarled. "You need to go back to class now? I'm busy."

I turned to leave.

"Where's your hall pass?" he demanded softly.

I quickly flipped through my folder and found one filled out, handing it to him hoping but skeptical that it had all of the pertinent information.

He handed it back satisfied.

I next went to the guidance counselor.

"Mrs. Amer? Mr. Seitz? I tested, handing a woman the hall pass.

"Yes?" she replied giving me a queer look. "Mr. Seitz is not available, right now. What can I help you with?"

"Mrs. Amer. That's you? And you're a guidance counselor, right?"

"Yes," she responded irked. "Now what is it? You're pass said that you have three periods to do research in the library, now why don't you go do that?"

I shut the door behind me. Now I knew the names and occupations of Mr. Kingbridge and Mrs. Amer by memory but not Mr. Taylor so I wasn't completely convinced yet of what my mom was telling me.

I next stopped at the library inspired by Mrs. Amer's mention of it. I had an idea. I typed in "Alice Andersen" in the computer catalogue. Four entries popped up. All four of the books in the fictional series! And all written by a Henrietta Hayes! I went over and found two of them (the others were checked out) on the shelf. I put my folder down to examine them.

I weighed Alice Andersen's Big Break in my hand. Have I got enough proof by now? I don't know.

Then I perked up.

You know what? My mom said to "just go with it" . . . and she's right - isn't she? My parents wouldn't lie to me like my mom said. Would they?

As I stood between shelves, my folder suddenly opened like a book. "My" class schedule paper floated up into the air and hovered in front of my face. The section that read "Social Studies: period 3 (11:00am to 12:00pm) was written in bold black ink and throbbed exaggeratedly. Underneath that, written and pulsating too were the words "CLAUDIA'S IN THIS CLASS. P.S. Don't forget your backpack in room 220. P.P.S. ACT LIKE A STUDENT." The paper then returned back to the folder.

What just happened was magic. I was totally convinced now that I was really in Stoneybrook, Connecticut. If magic is so clearly involved, then transporting me here is entirely possible.

I dashed to Mr. Zizmore's room, grabbed "my" backpack after I asked where it was, then ran to Social Studies. I waited awhile before entering because the previous class session had not ended yet. When it did, I was the first to go in.

I started shivering in anticipation as I sat in my desk, as kids from the next period - MY period - started filing in. I felt starstruck as each walked past - complete strangers yet each so familiar.

Then I spotted her. The only Asian-American entering inside. I acted nonchalant but inwardly wished and tried to will her to sit next to me. but she didn't.

During class, Claudia (she was called by name) answered a question wrong and a weasley little twerp giggled at her. I steamed up. I knew that I had to defend her.


End file.
